The Lost Brethren
by dijin
Summary: It has been nine years since the War of Time. The Underland is at peace, but the Nibblers are still homeless, whilst their population booms, and so it falls to King Gregor to find them a new homeland. Thanks to my beta Mareth.
1. Chapter 1

On the surface of the Earth the year is 2014 AD

On the surface of the Earth the year is 2014 AD. The world goes on, as it always does, albeit, slightly less smoothly than in earlier years.

Oil is more expensive than ever, as the Middle Eastern War, between the United States, Iran, and the Arab League over rights in the territory of the crumbling Iraqi republic, with the United States protecting oil interests in the area, the Arab League protecting the rights of a member state and Iran taking measures to protect its borders.

In Europe, the Serbo-Kosovan war expands, as Macedonian and Hungarian peacekeepers join the fray. In short the world, with a population of 7 billion, is bigger than ever, and too preoccupied to take notice of a man who has been assumed dead for three years, since his disappearance on the night of his eighteenth birthday.

Under the surface of the Earth, the year is 415 by the calender of Sandwich. It is a golden age, a time of unprecedented peace, with the Council of Seven, representing diggers, gnawers, crawlers, spinners, nibblers, fliers and Humans, acting as a symbol of unity and equality for the races of the Underland.

Only one realm among the myriad territories of the Underland has not pledged allegiance to the council, the cutters. However, seeing that an aggressive move on their part would bring nothing but a humiliating defeat, they grudgingly recognize the other realms sovereignty, at least in public.

In the kingdom of the gnawers, King Ripred the Peacemaker is lauded as the greatest for many generations, not a warmonger, not an expansionist, not even one with a great desire to ascend to the throne, simply one who saw that the gnawers would go down a road to self-destruction if yet another bloodthirsty maniac joined the line stretching through their history.

In the land of Regalia, it is the fifth year of the reign of Queen Luxa, and the third of the reign of King Gregor the Warrior. The city of Regalia has recovered from the scars it suffered in the war of the Prophecy of Time and the earlier ones of the War of the Prophecy of the Grey. The city was now, for the first time in generations, building anew instead of simply reconstructing the old.

However, there was one matter, one black spot, in this age as gold, that stood out as clear as a single light in the dark.

The Nibblers.

Despite nine years since being forced from their last territories, the Nibblers still live in refugee camps outside the great cities of Regalia, Tarsus and the Fount. Thirty thousand beings living in the open.

The council is now desperate to find a place for them to go. Now there are to look in the places where no known Underlander has searched before.

And this is where our adventure begins.


	2. Chapter 2

On the surface of the Earth the year is 2014 AD

Gregor walked down the main street of the town. Elysium was the first new settlement to be built after the War of Time and, with a great influx of refugees, chiefly human, gnawer and the displaced Nibblers; its population was filling every home in the town.

Gregor still marveled at the hubbub of the settlement. The street was filled with people of a dozen species. A silver haired human merchant cried out the virtues of his crystal trinkets, while to his left, a gnawer butcher sliced choice cuts of ham from a dangling pig carcass and to his right a trio of nibblers and a dark furred nibbler were setting up shop, stringing a dozen large fish across a line, their colours ranging from pale grey to a dazzling sapphire blue.

The streets rang with the clamour of the crowds, the clicks of crawlers, the squeaks of gnawers and nibblers, the distressed thrums of spinners being overpowered by the noise and the clipped tones of humans, still sounding four hundred years after their arrival, mildly English, although the accent differences in class were still the same, from the posh, haughty tones of nobles and rich merchants, to the harsh laughter of drunken laborers and annoyed tones of hassled town guards.

It was amazing how far the Underland had come. Nine years ago that human merchant with the trinkets would have had a blade in his hand at the mere sight of the gnawer to his left, whilst the gnawer would have had his claws ready to slash, the nibbler would be running to the human's aid and the crawlers simply running in any direction. Now though, they simply gave each other cordial nods of acknowledgment, there was little chance that they would be great friends but they weren't reaching for each others throats.

Not only that, even those races rarely seen before came and went as they pleased, as Gregor continued to walk along a pair of emerald green hissers strode past, their soft footsteps belying their huge bulk. A swarm of a dozen shiners buzzed past, arguing over who got the most food out of the multiple heavy satchels containing what a shiner considered a hearty lunch and what a human considered a weeks provisions. A huge stinger scuttled past later, clicking away at the dozen small babies clustered on her back, not needing to look where she went, the crowd parted before her as it did for Gregor and his bodyguards.

Gregor sighed to himself. He was still unused to the title of king and all the paraphernalia that came with it, he shunned a crown in public and disliked his guards, and they reminded him of the late Horatio and Marcus. Unlike the new Regalian advisory council, he did not wear gaudy, extravagant dresses of expensively died blue. Instead he wore clothes as simple as most of the humans passing him, but he was careful to keep them baggy enough to his chain-mail shirt and the dagger that had once belonged to his grandmother-in-law, Solovet. He had already faced down two assassins, one soon after a visit to King Ripred of the gnawers and one who had stabbed him as he dried himself after a relaxing bath in the palace's warm pools. That one had gotten him in the leg with a dagger, and now he kept a dagger with him whenever he went to the bath, just by the water's edge. He had no beliefs that the other rulers wished him dead, the nibblers practically hero-worshiped him for killing the Bane and his status as the princess's brother afforded him even more importance to the crawlers than his title of king, but he knew that his position was coveted by Regalia's nobility.

He enjoyed seeing Elysium. In an odd sense it was like a little slice of New York, with the hustle and bustle of thousands of people flooding the streets and, just like New York, it had its landmarks, tall and imposing, lit by dozens, or even hundreds of torches. Guard towers, which acted more as police stations than as defensive fortifications, a prison, the new hospital and all variety of merchant halls, which served as an underland equivalent to malls, and guild halls for everything from weavers and glassworkers, to fishers and the new, fledgling guild of explorers, all towered over both the city, and it's denizens. However, one structure towered over even over the other landmarks, although over fifty towers stood throughout the city only one was this tall of wide, the meeting chambers of the council.

The council, Gregor decided, were as close to a democracy as the Underland was likely to get any time soon, which of course, showed the Underlanders' ineptitude at grasping the concept.

Coming from a patchwork of monarchies it was understandable that there would be some difficulty in transplanting the idea to the Underland, but the Underlanders had not yet fully grasped the concept of a limited length to a leaders term, so, for the moment at least, a council members term lasted until either death, or the time at which they voluntarily stepped down. At least the delegates chosen by the council were sensible.

The group was seated around a large circular table; the council had one half of the table, the other half being occupied by the rulers of the seven most powerful races. Gregor was seated at one of the areas where the two groups met.

To Gregor's left sat Mareth, his missing leg now replaced, not by the hide and bone construct devised years ago by Regalia's doctors, but instead by an Overland prosthetic, an idea which had come from Gregor himself, upon his closer investigation of the museum, and the discovery of the object. Next to Mareth was Temp, now very old indeed for a crawler, his shell now tinted grey with age and his legs beginning to creak when used.

To the left of Temp was the still imposing figure of Lapblood, still looking just as Gregor had remembered from their first meeting, save the frosty grey coloured fur round her muzzle, like that of an aging dog, by her side was her eventual successor, her daughter Flyfur.

The next two positions belonged to the flier delegates, Nike and her successor-in-waiting, Venus, who was to replace her in two months, when Queen Athena was prepared to abdicate the throne, and Nike to ascend to it. Beside Venus was Ferrox, the new spinner delegate, who was replacing the late Reflex. Then came Heronian, looking comically small in a chair seemingly built t accommodate someone of York's stature instead of the mouse who was short even for her own kind, and seemed even smaller next to the bulk of Krynarx, the diggers' representative.

Next to Krynarx was his ruler, the King of the diggers. Whose name sounded like a pair of whistles in quick succession, followed by a sound like that of a pot of boiling water.

Next to the huge digger was Queen Wevox, who, although half again as large as when Gregor had first seen her, was nearing the end of her reign, and indeed her life.

Beside her, was Queen Athena, looking only slightly older than she had been when Gregor had seen her during his first adventures in the underland, during the Prophecy of the Gray.

Beside her was the new crawler king, Proc, whose youth and inexperience showed as clearly as his shiny, new looking carapace, and who relied heavily upon the advice of his experienced councillor, Temp.

King Dividian of the nibblers was next, his eyes startlingly learned looking in the face of what was clearly a young nibbler, but was old beyond his years after seeing gnawers kill the last king, his father, before his very eyes before his rescue by Perdita's division of troops.

Finally, on Gregor's right, was Ripred, his body still a patchwork of scars, including the X on his face. His eyes still held their own gleam, much like Vikus' had before his death last year, but whereas Vikus' had been entirely innocent, Ripred's simultaneously showed the knowledge he had picked up throughout his tough life, and that mischievous glint that it still had, King of the gnawers or no.

Gregor felt out of place, he was the only one not of the council or of royal blood, he had only married royalty. He wished Luxa were here, but Howard had advised that it would be best if the heavily pregnant Luxa stayed in the palace for the time being.

Since Elysium, despite the fact that it was owned by all the races, was in human territory Gregor was the one expected to start the meeting, and so he stood.

"Are we all assembled?" The others nodded.

"Then let us begin."


	3. Chapter 3

"Is there any old business that needs to be reviewed by the council?" Gregor asked, almost dreading Krynarx's inevitable question.

"Yes, councilman," he said, as Krynarx raised a massive forelimb.

The digger gave a little nod of recognition, and then began to speak. "King Gregor, may I once again draw your attention to our new trade agreements; the King", he motioned to the digger's monarch, who had no command of English and required a translator, "wishes to have them re-evaluated".

Luckily Gregor had prepared his response, "I would suggest, Krynarx, that you bring this to the attention of the new Merchant's Guild, this is their area of expertise," Gregor then continued before the digger could slip a word in edgeways, "Any more old business?"

This time, the nibbler King Dividian, raised his paw. Gregor nodded to him, already anticipating his question.

"Warrior," the nibbler began, Gregor knew that he was trying to flatter him, using the grander title of Warrior, instead of King, "I must insist on again bringing to the council the oldest piece of business on the agenda, the re-homing of the nibbler population. After the population boom following the war, the population is over 45,000; 30,000 outside Regalia alone. We need to find a home for my people, and I suggest that it be within the territory the gnawers took from us, before trying to wipe us out!"

Lapblood immediately leapt up, "No! That is our territory; if you tried to take it over you would begin an exodus on a scale unseen since the Bane's driving out of your people."

Dividian was seething, he appeared to be on a role now, "And would that exodus begin with genocide? Shall we massacre the gnawers in territories we desire, as the Bane massacred us, used us as a scapegoat for the gnawer's problems! My people need a home, and you gnawer's appear to be the best possible race from which to seize it."

The council erupted. Athena, Nike and Venus shuffled their wings angrily, screeching to each other in a wave-length inaudible to Gregor's ears, Lapblood practically shook with rage. Temp and Proc clicked to each other from across the table, sounding worried from what Gregor understood. Krynarx was relaying the events to his king in their dialect whilst Weevox and Ferrox simply tried to hide, the noise being too much for those sensitive spinner ears.

Only two were silent, Gregor himself, and the reassuringly familiar presence to his right.

Ripred stood and, slowly and deliberately, scraped one claw against the stone table. The screeching noise silenced everyone at the table except for the spinners, who began thrumming to themselves in groans of pain.

"There is one option that hasn't been considered," Ripred paced around the room, stopping by the large map that dominated one wall. He swept his claw casually through the parchment yellow area to the north-east of the human territory, far north of Regalia.

"You could go here."

The words were said with simplicity disproportionate to their magnitude. Mareth replied first.

"The Uncharted Lands? No, you know what Sandwich said of that place". Gregor silently thought that Ripred didn't give a hoot about Sandwich's thoughts on the subject, but he decided he had to be a good human king and ask.

"What did Sandwich say?"

This time, Nike answered, "Not long after he arrived. Sandwich decided he wished to expand from Regalia, so he sent two armies out, one consisting of those of the middle-class, the other of low class workers. The first, under his second son, went south-east, founding the Fount. The other, under his youngest son, went north-east, into the Uncharted Land. Not one of his men returned, so Sandwich decreed his descendant's would lead no army to those lands again."

Dividian spoke up, angrily again, "And now he suggests that we go into this land of unknown horrors, this is the fate his people were threatened with after the war. Typical gnawer."

Lapblood appeared ready to start up again, but Ripred silenced her with a glance, "Now you don't expect me to say that every nibbler, male, female and pup, go immediately. I was going to suggest that expeditions be sent into these lands, investigate, and return with their findings. If they don't return, then we find somewhere else."

"Who would contribute to this expedition?" thrummed a now recovered Weevox.

"I would say there should be three expeditions, each going in different directions. The largest would go to the north-east. The seven races would all contribute in accordance with their numbers, so diggers would be the fewest, and crawlers the most numerous, and of course, the other races would be expected to contribute."

Gregor was surprised, Ripred had obviously been thinking about this for some time.

"And who would lead the north-eastern expedition?" rumbled Krynarx.

"Well, I would be a part of this, obviously" said Ripred.

"I refuse to let my people's future be left to a gnawer," cried Dividian, "I will go as well."

"No." Gregor almost surprised himself by speaking, "Your people cannot go without leadership at this time. I will go instead".

"You cannot go," said Heronian, "Sandwich said that the human's monarchy would not lead a force to the north-east,"

"That's not true," Mareth said, quietly "He said none of his descendants would."

"And not one of those, the Warrior is, not one of those." Temp clicked.

"So it is decided." said Gregor. The council nodded as one, except for the digger king, who waited for his translation before nodding himself.

"Then we go to the Uncharted Lands." he said simply


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, first thing's first, sorry for the delay, but stuff like clearing out my room, fixing my ipod and life in general prevented me from getting this out as quickly as possible

Okay, first thing's first, sorry for the delay, but stuff like clearing out my room, fixing my ipod and life in general prevented me from getting this out as quickly as possible.

Second, this Chapter is rated T, mainly for adult situations, mostly caused by a naughty Gregor, my reasoning behind these being, that if Gregor and Luxa are adults, they won't be acting the same way they were at 12...

Third, to make for the chapter's lateness, it is double length; this chapter is almost 2,000 word, my longest ever.

Anyway, thank you, and please enjoy.

Of course, making such a momentous decision for the whole Underland is not an easily done thing. For the rest of the day and much of the night the council argued about troop contributions, food supplies, exact roots and shares of resources; the nibblers couldn't have everything after all.

In the end, Ripred brought to the table, in a tone that brooked no argument, that each race would contribute in proportion to their populations and their available resources, that the route would be decided upon by the humans, who had the greatest cartographers of any race, and the diggers, who knew more of the lay of the nearby land than any other race, land they had seen some of during their long exile.

By the time Gregor left he was more exhausted than after a training session with Ripred; at least his rager abilities were now developed enough to fight Ripred to a standstill, but he couldn't do the same with words that he could with a blade. The old gnawer still had that in his favor.

Gregor still loved the feeling of flight, although even after all these years he felt a pang of regret that Ares was no longer there with him to enjoy it. Still, as the flier bearing him led his bodyguard through a long tunnel and into the massive underground chamber enclosing the city of Regalia, that feeling of joy was eclipsed by another, greater feeling: the happiness of returning home.

Ten years ago, Gregor would never have dreamed he would be living here. Ten years ago, he was trudging through the dark, unfamiliar stretches of the gnawer's domain, with a pair of Underlanders, their bonds, a spider, a cockroach who's friend had just died, a feverish sister and a sarcastic, smart-alecky slave-driver of a rat. The only thing he wanted was to find his father and leave for the surface, now he wouldn't, indeed couldn't, fathom returning to the surface. Not only that, now he was married to one of the dark realms inhabitants, one who in particular he had called "creepy".

And she was having his child, whenever he thought that an odd mix of joy, anxiety, bemusement and sheer terror rushed through him. His family had recently had one of their occasional visits to the Underland, which was obstentiously so that Lizzy could see her "Brother-in-law" Hazard, the air-quotes becoming more and more apparent with each visit, yet they seemed completely oblivious to their kin's knowledge of their close "friendship". When he had a moment alone with his dad he asked him if he was meant to feel like that when he thought of fatherhood, his father immediately began to chuckle at him and with a hearty slap on the back told him that he'd have been worried about Gregor if he hadn't voiced such concerns.

"Fatherhood is a daunting prospect, son," his father had explained, "When we found out that your mother was first pregnant I wasn't sure should I jump for joy or run a mile. Right now, you're afraid that you won't be a good enough father to your child, and when he, or she, is born then you'll spoil them to the best of your ability to compensate."

As Theocrates, the flier assigned to shuttle him between Regalia and Elysium set down in the main hall his eyes immediately scanned the room and his eyes fixed upon the tall, slightly muscular man nearest the doorway.

"Howard!" Gregor shouted happily as he swung off the flier's back, "It's good to see you brother." Of course Howard was not Gregor's brother, nor Luxa's, but after all they had been through the relationship the three had was closer than merely cousins.

"It is good to see you also Gregor," Howard's voice was disproportionately gentle in comparison to his bulk, he seemed to have inherited York's size and strength, and Susannah's gentle manner. "Come, I will bring you to Luxa, she is in the hospital wing; nothing is wrong," he said hurriedly, correctly interpreting his worried look, "she is simply have a routine check-up."

"Thank God," Gregor mumbled, Howard gave a great, booming laugh, one that he had certainly gotten from his father.

"It is a normal reaction from expectant fathers, Gregor, I myself was the same," he said, as they walked side by side through the maze of stairways and corridors running through the massive palace.

"Oh yes, how are the twins?"

"They and Cornelia are well thank you, Suffolk's actually starting to speak now, although currently his vocabulary consists mainly of the words dada, mama and elbow," he said, with a short chortle so disproportionately loud that a couple of servants looked up from their cleaning of a bust of the recently deceased Vikus. Although people knew Howard was no barbarian, the height and muscle mass he had gained were surprising to those who had known the polite young man he had been when Gregor first met him at the Arena almost a decade ago.

Finally, after almost twenty minutes of chatting, in which Gregor learned, to his surprise, that Stellovet of all people was engaged, albeit to an appropriately nasty piece of working from Platea, they rounded a bend and found them selves in the medical wing. Most of the beds were empty save for a man who had broken his leg falling down a flight of steps and a woman with a nasty slash on her leg from losing footing during training, dropping her sword guard so that the blade aimed for her sword sliced through her leg.

They walked down to the private rooms at the end of the corridor, stepping around a small puddle of blood that had landed on the ground when the woman's makeshift bandage, made of her sparring partner's shirtsleeve, had come off so the doctors could examine it. Howard led Gregor to the first door on the left and knocked gingerly, explaining to Gregor "I remember barging in on Cecilia during a check-up in which she said she would rather be alone, I will never forget it, by Sandwich, I would fight the squid on the Waterway again rather than anger another pregnant woman."

Unfortunately for Howard, the door, made from a thin piece of stone, swung open behind him. "Could you repeat that Howard?" came the silky sweet tones his wife, who had somehow managed to make a voice as malevolent as the Bane's speech on why the nibblers should be purged.

The huge man flushed a bright red, then said, hurriedly, "I will, ah, leave you two to it," before scurrying, actually scurrying, down the hallway, skidding about a meter as he neglected to remember the woman's blood puddle in his haste.

Gregor waited until the nurse had left before walking into the room. His wife was sitting on the bed, her hands on her belly.

"Come here Gregor, the baby is kicking," Gregor had seen what had happened when he disobeyed his wife's commands and scurried in a manner reminiscent of Howard's flight towards his wife's side, before entwining his left hand with his wife's on her stomach.

"So he his," Gregor said, absent-mindedly, before he kissed his wife on the neck, running his hand along her back.

"Gregor," his Luxa purred reluctantly, her eyes half-closed, "We can't."

"Why not?" he smirked.

"For one, I'm pregnant,"

"So, we can still enjoy ourselves," Luxa giggled, "And what other reason is there?"

"Well," Luxa said teasingly, "the midwife is standing in the doorway."

Gregor immediately snapped to awareness, brightening to a tint of red slightly brighter than Howard's face had been minutes before. The nurse awkwardly said, "I, ah, forgot my medical bag," before walking across the room, picking up a small, leather bag on the bedside table, and striding out.

As soon as the nurse left his wife began to laugh herself hoarse, Gregor decided to put a good face on things. "So," he whispered, "Where were we?"

"You are insatiable," Luxa gasped between giggles. "Besides, we have to speak to the council in thirty minutes,"

"Why?" said Gregor, inwardly groaning, he had been looking forward to spending some "quality time", with his wife, not speaking to an assembly of Regalia's most pompous aristocrats, whose argument for being on the council was that their families were important, yet had no argument to explain why their families were important.

"How long do we have?"

"Thirty minutes."

"Hmmm," said Gregor, "What can we do in thirty minutes?"

In the end, Luxa did not allow Gregor to have his choice in activities at that time, so in thirty minutes time they stood in the council chamber, well, he stood, Luxa sat, and were bombarded by questions by the council, although, again it was mainly him being questioned.

"Why did you agree to this expedition?"

"What forces are we expected to send?"

"Do you know of Sandwich's decree?"

"Is there a prophecy to guide us?"

Luckily, Howard, still slightly red, had come with them from the medical wing, with specific instructions. After about ten minutes of clamor and roaring Gregor gave a discreet thumbs-up, and Howard yelled "Quiet!", his loud voice conveying the message just as Gregor wished it to be.

After they were silent Gregor spoke, "I shall now answer the questions you have given me. We humans are expected to contribute to the expedition only as appropriate to our numbers and our food stocks, we shall arm our own troops but food will be shared among the races, I agreed to this as my wife's bond, King Ripred, suggested it, and the nibbler's are in need of a new home," he paused for breath, then continued, "I know of Sandwich's decree, that none of his descendant's shall lead an army into the north-east, but he didn't foresee that an overlander would be king, and so I am exempt from that decree. And of course finally, on the subject of prophecies, I don't give a monkey's ass about prophecies," the council gasped, but he had made clear to Luxa and Howard about his view on prophecies, "If Sandwich was wrong about my death, and make no mistake that he was wrong, and wrong about me becoming king, then he was likely wrong about this. He prophesied an apocalypse within a couple of hundred years that would wipe out humanity, instead, we number seven BILLION on the surface, here, there are ten thousand."

"We shall not allow our men to go!" one councilman yelled defiantly.

Gregor actually laughed, "Won't let me go, this is an advisory council, not the council that existed nine years ago, you have no power save what my wife and I give you. If Luxa wished she could strip you of all position," the one councilman slumped over, defeated, knowing he was beaten.

"Now ladies and gentleman, if that is all," and of course it was, "then if you shall excuse us, my wife and I have some stuff to catch up on," giving Luxa a sly wink, to which she only rolled her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

The city of Regalia rang with the clangs of hammers, the hiss of cooling metal, the crash of marching and shouts of soldiers and officers, families and merchants

The city of Regalia rang with the clangs of hammers, the hiss of cooling metal, the crash of marching and shouts of soldiers and officers, families and merchants. Thousand streamed through the city as the army, no, the expedition, gathered.

The promised one third of Regalia's army was gathered at the city. Of that third a half would go with King Gregor. For a nation with a population of ten thousand in the Overland, that would be a minuscule force, but Regalia, peace or no peace, had kept it's traditions. All people could bear arms at need, and at any time four thousand, a huge portion of the population, was at arms.

It was not just humans; that morning the council's forces had begun to arrive, two thousand Gnawers under King Ripred, one thousand Nibblers under Prince Archim of the Nibblers, smaller groups arrived under various generals, hundreds of Spinners and Crawlers, a force of Fliers under Princess Nike, a small group of Shiners and a tiny, token force of Diggers, Stingers and Hissers, sent only as a gesture from their leaders.

Gregor stood on the balcony, wearing only a simple pair of spider-silk trousers. It was early; on a normal morning the city would still be asleep, but today, the city was preparing for something it hadn't done for nine years, and though Gregor was loath to do so, he found himself fulfilling a role he had believed was expected of the warrior when he first arrived.

He was about to bring an army out from Regalia to enter a foreign land.

The ground outside the city of Regalia thrummed with life; clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth gave him a 3-D picture. It was over-whelming.

Thousands of beings had gathered. Wagons of fuel, torches, weapons and armor, along with the normal train of merchants, entertainers, con-artists and family members that had once followed every army in the world, and still did under the world.

The four leaders of the force were standing on a small rise when Gregor approached. For the first time since the Bane had nearly killed him, he wore full plate armor, his entire body encased in a shimmering metal shell. At his side hung his blade, not Sandwich's sword, his sword, almost a full meter of steel, with a hilt made of a silvery metal the Underlanders called Shimmer-Steel, following their naming convention for calling a thing after what it did.

Ahead, stood two humans, a Nibbler and a Gnawer. The Gnawer was obviously Ripred, his scarred pelt as distinguishable as his characteristic slouch. The two humans were equally familiar; one was Mareth, encased in a similar suit of armor to Gregor, but lighter, as he intended to fight from the back of Andromeda, his bond, Howard stood beside him, a doctor's white uniform in place of armor plate, but the edge of a chain-mail hauberk could be seen just sticking out of the bottom of his shirt.

The only new figure was the Nibbler, although unmistakably a mouse he was large for one of his race, nearing Mareth's shoulder in height. His grey coat with a distinctive white spot over one eye, however, made sure that his identity was known to Gregor, if only through descriptions.

"Prince Archim," Gregor said, with an inclination of his head, the Nibbler nodding in response.

"Ripred, are the gnawers ready to move out?" Gregor asked, turning from the Nibbler to the grizzled rat.

"Yes, oh great Warrior king," replied the rat, his voice in a mockingly subservient tone. Gregor rolled his eyes; at least someone would enjoy the trip.

"Howard, are the medical supplies loaded?"

"Yes, Gregor," Gregor's eyes were drawn to the sparkling cross and needle insignia on Howard's chest, the meaning of a needle being clear enough, the meaning of the cross being mystifying to the Underlanders, but easily understandable to Gregor.

Howard continued, "We have loaded the wagons with bandages, needles, antiseptics, painkillers and cures for every disease we know of, including the Curse of the Warmbloods, in case there is an outbreak of it in the Uncharted lands."

Mareth spoke up as well, "The soldiers await your order, your highness."

Gregor found himself rolling his eyes for an entirely different reason. Since his coronation, Gregor had been treated differently by Mareth; there was no longer the master-student bond they'd had from training, and a lot less of the camaraderie they had shared after the Prophecy of the Bane, Mareth was no longer Gregor's teacher, and so believed Gregor his complete superior. Mareth may have been a great man in many respects, but his unflinching devotion to Regalia's class system was not his greatest attribute.

Gregor was finding it hard to give the order, in three years he had never left Luxa's side for more than a week, this expedition would last months. He had already said his goodbyes to Luxa, he'd felt like he'd left part of himself behind, it just didn't feel right, leaving his pregnant wife behind.

In the end, it came out as a short, gruff sentence:

"Let's go".

Mareth immediately began yelling orders to the nearest officers, who ran off to relay orders to the nearest units or, in the case of those going to the force's far off flanks, departed on the backs of fliers.

The force was huge. There was no other way to put it, in some ways, that was it's weakness, a normal human army moved as fast as it's soldier's bonds could fly them. However the many thousands of troops, including many heavy gnawers, and several gargantuan hissers and stingers, were simply too heavy to be flown.

Gregor stood, watching, facing towards Regalia, his eyes drawn, like iron filings to a magnet, toward the great edifice of the palace. He tore his eyes away and forced himself to seem happy, or at least unfazed. Ripred spoke first in his usual sarcastic drawl.

"Well, off we go on our merry little way," and skulked off to find a convenient wagon in which to doze.


	6. Chapter 6

The expedition was advancing at a good pace, Gregor thought at least, as good as it could be. The wagons filled with medical supplies, food, water, spare weapons and armor, and other essentials, slowed the force down. Luckily, the path chosen was relatively smooth, in the two weeks since setting forth from Regalia, the Fliers had only had to shuttle the wagons over steep rises in place of horses once. Now, they had left the territory of the humans behind, and were now in territory little seen before by human, or gnawer.

Since this was an expedition of exploration, Gregor had sent many scouts out from the main force to search for hospitable areas, but with orders to be careful, two gnawers had already been killed by a rock slide and one human was now being tended to by Howard's doctors after drinking from a fouled stream.

The role of scouting was one that, unexpectedly, had proved to be a good one for the crawlers, their speed and numbers allowed them to cover large areas quickly, whilst their wings allowed them to get over most obstacles easily, rarely needing the help of fliers.

It was one of these scouting parties that made that first discovery, the first clue they were on a previously traveled track. A trio of crawlers had scuttled quickly towards himself and Hazard, who had come due to his desire to learn more languages, and also to translate for those unable to speak English, or for those who were inept at it.

His presence proved invaluable, only one of the crawlers spoke English, and he spoke it in a way that was even worse than that of Gregor's old companion Temp. Hazard was able to get them to calm with a flurry of clicks, then, after about two minutes of clicks, Hazard turned to Gregor and said, "Hora here says that she has found something that you must see."

Although skeptical, Gregor trusted Hazard's judgment on what was important, and so assembled a group of a dozen soldiers, led by Mareth, and followed the crawlers to their discovery.

It was indeed important. What they had found looked like a graveyard. Two dozen skeletons of humans were scattered about the place. Rock was scattered everywhere, and from the way that some bodies were half-buried by boulders, it was clear what had happened.

"They are from the first expedition", Hazard said, finally, "I recognise that symbol from my lessons," he said, pointing at a tattered, faded, but still visible banner, bearing an emblem of a silver sword, circled by five golden stars, "that was James of Sandwich's personal emblem."

"His expedition was the victim of an accident," Gregor said quietly.

"No," said Mareth, "See, some of the bodies have drawn blades, and look," he gestured to the left, "That is no human bone."  


"You're right," said Gregor, "It's too thin," he picked it up, it was remarkably light, curious, he tested it's strength, the bone snapped easily in his hands, "And it is hollow," he showed the bone to the others.

"Then they were attacked." said Hazard quietly. A flurry of clicking interrupted their thoughts. The crawlers had found something.

"What is it?" Gregor asked Hazard, who picked his way across the debris, to the crawlers, and looked at what they were gesturing to.

"We are not the only things that have been here recently," the boy whispered, pointing to the large paw-print in the dirt.

Since then, the watches had doubled, the scout teams had been halved, but those that went out were triple sized. The group was nervous. Since the army had departed, the riff-raff trailing behind them had been selling soldiers all sorts of things: extra-food, contra-band spirits, games, but now the amount of good luck charms being purchased had increased dramatically.

The only person completely unperturbed was Ripred, who lounged in the back of one of the wagons, occasionally asking Gregor a question in his sarcastic tone of voice.

"Oh, great Warrior King, pray, may I take a moment of your time and ask a question?" was his favorite introduction.

"Yes," would be Gregor's annoyed reply.

At this point, Ripred became deadly serious, Gregor remembered of how he had thought of Ripred saying, "What'd your plan?" to start himself thinking, this was what Ripred was like now.

"How big was the footprint you saw?"

"I don't know, it was bigger than a gnawer print, maybe digger sized."

At this point Ripred would sigh, whispering under his breath, "Of all the people I have to work with," and then say, "What did it look like?"

"It was a mammal print." Gregor replied, cautiously.

"Oh yes, that's really helpful, because only, what, five of the council species are mammals."

"Okay, it looked like a dog print, though I couldn't be sure, it might be a cat, or a bear."

"Hmmm, well that's something at least," a pause, then "At least you've learned a bit since you were a boy, you're more attentive."

At this point Gregor almost fell off his seat, Ripred complimenting him! But before he further pursue the issue, Ripred had picked up one of the wineskins he had made sure were brought and popped it open. The odour coming out was unmistakeable, and Ripred thrust his whole face in, his muzzle almost entirely white with cream when he withdrew his snout.

Gregor was disliking this already, besides administrative tasks, the disciplining of drunken soldiers, an all too common occurrence, the coordination of scouts and thinking about the grave-like ambush site, the odd bone, and the paw-print, he couldn't help almost always thinking of Luxa.

On the first day of the third week, Gregor awoke with a start; he could have sworn he had heard a scream. A second later, and Ripred was up, and in Rager mode; yep, it had definitely been a scream.

Gregor jumped out of the wagon, running the two hundred meters to the front of the column in seconds; his ability at track hadn't left him in his time in the Underland.

At the front, he saw a dozen soldiers, about half human, half gnawers. They had formed a wall in front of the lead wagon. Gregor elbowed through, Ripred at his heels, and then stopped. Immediately ahead, was a huge dog. No, not a dog, but a wolf, the size of a horse, with it's front right paw on the chest of a human sentry, sprawled on his belly, with his sword just out of reach.

Hours seemed to pass. Then, a new sound, not the sound of sword leaving scabbard, or claw entering flesh. It was laughter. Neither the guards, nor the wolf were making the noise, it seemed the sort of thing Ripred might do. Gregor turned to him.

But the rat was silent too.


	7. Chapter 7

The speed with which Ronan and Blacktip readied themselves seemed nigh impossible, but in what seemed like seconds Ronan was on the wolf's back, his pistol out in one hand, his long dagger in the other. They were already bounding away down a wide tunnel as the bats took to the air.

The bat Gregor was on led the way for the others through the tunnels, following the wolf by echolocation. This tunnel reminded Gregor of Hades Hall, the rises, falls, stalactites and stalagmites, the feeling of eyes in the dark, staring at him.

Gregor tried to get his bat to swoop in closer to Ronan, trying to find out where they were going, but Blacktip was moving as fast as the bat, and could not be caught.

It was twenty minutes before they stopped. The tunnel abruptly ended, exiting onto a plain of huge proportions, Gregor tried to see how wide it was with a few clicks of echolocation. He didn't feel the waves of sound go back. The other Underlanders stood similarly amazed, after the rat's nest of tunnels that surrounded their homes (quite literally in Ripred's case) the huge expanse of open ground was as alien to them as the sun. Even the dead lands, some of the most open terrain in the charted lands, were dwarfed by this.

They were so dumbstruck that they completely missed what Blacktip and Ronan had found. Gregor was the first to turn away from the plains, and was confronted by a charnel heap.

A smaller tunnel was close to the one from which they had just emerged. Gregor could see that it wasn't really a tunnel though, more a cave. Strewn across the mouth of the cave were half a dozen wolves, almost all larger than Blacktip. Three humans lay dead as well. All of the dead had gaping wounds, like they had been spitted on a colossal drill. Blacktip picked her way from wolf to wolf, nuzzling the bodies, whimpering. It hit Gregor that, in comparison to the size of the other wolves, she was quite small, probably still young. Gregor felt a twinge of sympathy for her.

Ronan seemed more practical, he picked his way between the three dead humans, taking small water bottles, sack of rations, and little sacks that Gregor saw contained a fine back powder. When he had found anything of use on the bodies, he said a few words in that odd language of his, then gently reached up and closed their eyelids. He had just done this for the third body, and had begun to turn towards the cave, when Blacktip made an odd noise, almost like a yip, which seemed almost comical coming out of a creature of Blacktip's size.

The young wolf was by the side of a huge wolf, easily twice her size. His entire pelt was just like her snowy white fur, although his had a more greyish tint; at least, it did where it wasn't matted red with blood.

Gregor sprinted over, as did Ronan and Ripred. Blacktip gave another odd yip, and then exclaimed, "Its Halftooth, he's dead!" Gregor hadn't a hard time guessing where the name came from, one of the wolf's front teeth had, at some long distant point been broken in two.

Blacktip, he noticed, now had stopped yipping and was now making a whining noise. The wolf pawed the body gently before lying down beside it, making more of the mournful whines.

Ronan now lead Gregor away from the saddened wolf. The man looked angry, Gregor was about to ask him a question, when he suddenly spoke.

"This is not good, Halftooth was the leader of our scouts on the eastern frontier, if he is dead…", he began to mutter to himself in that language of his, then he began again in English, "and Blacktip won't let me leave until they at least get a fire, after all, it is her father…", then he seemed to realise Gregor was still there.

"We will, have to get you to the city soon; I can't protect you from the fiach dubh for long, I was relying on their inability to get past our patrols but…"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. A single rock tumbled from the rocky walls above. The noise had everyone stiffen and turn around to the source of the noise.

Then the world filled with light.

Gregor's eyes, adjusted to dark, or near-dark, felt like they were on fire, he rubbed at his eyes, trying desperately to shield them from the sudden, inexplicable light, when suddenly, it stopped. Only dim torchlight lit the caves.

But it was not Regalian torchlight.

About two dozen men, in light armour made of what looked like rough leather, with a hodgepodge collection of swords, spears, axes, halberds, bows and arrows, and even a pair of muskets were scattered in a loose ring around the group. All of then wore odd masks that looked like they were made out of…feathers? One of them spoke from behind his mask.

"Drop your weapons", he spoke calmly, in English, in a clipped accent like that of a British officer in a World War II film.

Gregor shouted, "Who are…."

The man broke in quickly.

"We will not ask again".


	8. Chapter 8

The stone bowl was basked in light, torches had flickered to life in the dark. The men around the bowl's lip stood menacingly, gripping their weapons tightly, Gregor could see crossbows and medieval looking firearms among the swords and halberds. Gregor knew very little about those weapons, Regalia's army used neither, but what he'd seen in movies during his time in the Overland didn't encourage him.

One soldier, a young man barely out of his teens, began to reach for the long bow that he carried across his back, but a nearby Ripred slapped his hand aside with his tail, "Don't", the rat hissed, "you shoot once, we're all dead before your arrow finds it's mark".

Gregor was at that moment struggling to figure out a plan. Surrounded by armed enemies, unable to attack, forced to throw down his arms or face death, it was like something out of a badly written book...

Their captors were now raising their weapons, picking their targets, preparing to fire at heads, hearts, anywhere where a single musket ball, arrow or crossbow bolt could cause an instant death. It took them precious time to take aim. That time was what saved the group.

Out of the blue, one of the men, this one somewhere behind Gregor, shouted "Sir, isn't that captain Ronan there with the interlopers?"

Another, this one over to the left, piped in "And that looks like Blacktip over there by the corpses, I thought she was one, she's so still".

The leader, in his position directly in front of Gregor, paused, then shouted, "Lower your weapons!". The men gathered around the lip of the depression complied quickly, strapping weapons to their backs, sliding them into scabbards and hanging them from belt loops, before clambering down the rough stone walls.

The commander arrived at the group first, pulling off his odd, feathered mask as he approached. His features were almost reassuringly familiar to Gregor, he'd never met the man before, but with his silvery hair, translucent skin, noble bearing, and even that arrogant tilt of the chin seemed reassuringly Regalian, almost like Luxa when he had first met her.

The maen under his command also peeled off their helmets, masks and cloaks, revealing a roughly even mix of men and woman sharing the features of the Regalian seeming leader, and those who with the dull coppery colour of Ronan's hair.

The leader stepped forward ana addressed Ronan, "Captain, who are these people, what are they doing here, why are you with them and kindly explain to me what the hell happened to my god-damn outpost!"

Ronan stood bolt upright, seemingly at attention, and seemed very apprehensive. "My prince", he began, "this is an expedition into our territory from the old lands, this" he said, indicating Gregor, "Is King Gregor of Regalia".

The prince suddenly went even paler, the men around them stiffened and began to place hands on their weapons,. Gregor began to worry, they didn't appear to be out of the woods yet.

The platinum haired royal composed himself, and then said, slowly and deliberately, "And what about the outpost?"

"My liege", Ronan answered, "after we encountered their caravan, Blacktip pounced on one of their forward guards thinking he was one of John's men, we decided to bring them to Haven, so the King could speak to their leader. We stopped to rest after a while, but almost immediately, we heard a call from Halftooth for help, warning of the fiach dubh, but by the time we arrived, they had already been and gone".

"Very well", said the prince, "I believe you had a good idea in taking them to my father, we must continue on to Haven anyway, we have seen a lot of enemy activity, both from John's faction, and from the fiach dubh, both Haven's council and my father at Carraig Dubh will want to know of this, it shall likely influence their future decisions, and they shall want to meet with King Gregor here".

Gregor stood baffled by most of that conversation, as well as by the oddity of this situation. He was in the middle of, surrounded by soldiers, enemies that no one would identify, and he was being completely ignored.

"Hold on", he said, interrupting Ronan's beginning of a reply, "can someone please explain to me what's going on? Who are the fiach dubh, and who is John? What is Haven, and who the hell are you people?!"

"My apologies _my liege_," the prince said, loading the honorific with as much scorn as he could muster. "I am Prince Matthew, of the house of Sandwich. I command the fortress at Haven, and happily and honourably serve my father, King Christopher the fourth of Craig Dubh". He paused for an instant to inhale before he continued, "You are currently on my father's land, _my liege_ and so, in light of that fact, I shall be taking you into my custody, so that my father can judge your fate for himself", he smiled a slightly familiar half-smile, that was far from familiarly reassuring, more rat-like.

"And how do you intend to do that?" Ripred broke in, "You forfeited your tactical advantage, you're too close to us", Ripred's smile was also rat-like, his with good reason, "If you attack, we can fight and win against you".

Matthew chuckled, "You think this is _all_ of my force". He let out a low, long whistle.

Three dozen soldiers appeared at the crater's lip, again armed with ranged weapons, training their weapons on the Regalians.

"Ah", said Ripred, "That's how..."


End file.
